


Joie De Vivre

by risokura



Category: Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: Angst and Feels, Canada, F/F, Graduate School, Past Relationship(s), Suicidal Thoughts
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-06
Updated: 2020-09-06
Packaged: 2021-03-06 20:00:33
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,749
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26314558
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/risokura/pseuds/risokura
Summary: Its mid-January, 8:35PM on a Friday night and I’m currently heading to Vancouver—all the way to Canada, that is—to kill myself. Edelgard/Byleth. AU.
Relationships: Edelgard von Hresvelg/My Unit | Byleth
Comments: 21
Kudos: 41





	Joie De Vivre

**Author's Note:**

> I used to almost always write in first person, feels nice returning back to that form of prose. Lots of angst. ANGSTY. Those are my real roots. Mmm, yes. This is not a happy story. So if you want to feel emotionally destroyed, by all means, proceed. 
> 
> Anyway. Things have been weird lately. Wanted to channel that into something. Aye. This one is …somewhat personal. Always remember, mental health is important kids.
> 
> I’ve left the ending up to you to decide.

I close my eyes and I see fractures beneath the skin that shields me from the world.

I inhale, lungs inflating with invisible, cold air.

Even when it’s this late at night, it's loud on every street corner that you pass by.

The chill of winter's breath seeps into my skin and bites at my cheeks as I had pushed my way through the crowds gathering at the entrance to my departure gate. Its mid-January, _8:35PM_ on a Friday night and I’m currently heading to Vancouver—all the way to Canada, that is—to kill myself.

My knuckles are pressed against my cheek, my forehead resting against the cold windowpane to the left of me. The lights from the highway continue to fade overhead and the shadows crawl along my lap, descending upon the floor and scamper off to the other side of the bus. I can’t see anything but the dark outlines of what I presume to be mountains in the distance. Some book that I should be reading for class lies discarded and open in my lap. Does it really matter if I even read it at this point?

I glance across the aisle to the person sitting in the seat on the other side of the bus. Her mouth is open wide and I want to stuff tissue down her throat so that she’ll stop snoring. My destination is another hour away and I already find myself wanting to get off in the middle of nowhere so that I can wander and slowly freeze to death. But, no. I booked this expensive room in the heart of downtown Vancouver under the guise of “getting away from Seattle for the weekend”. I should at least make use of it before I decide to off myself.

…Off myself. … _Kill_ myself. Hm. I wonder if I should feel guilt about what I’m about to do? The signs were there. I reached out to my father… tried to convey what I was feeling. But, I’ve never been good with words. Nor, my emotions. And my father, my father has his own life. His own thoughts about what I’m doing with my life.

What had he told me? _I know it’s hard, but this was your decision._

I remember fumbling over my words on our phone call last night. I tried to tell him that I was stressed beyond belief. Graduate school was pushing me to my limits. I couldn’t do this anymore. I didn’t have the strength to just _power through_ like everyone was telling me to. I was averaging less than four hours of sleep per night and even when I did sleep, it was never restful. I was up half the night ruminating over everything that I had done wrong that day, every paper that could have been better than what it was.

Why was I doing this again? Why was I trying to go on with this one thing that seemed to bring me prestige that I didn’t even think was that important? I was doing this because it was supposed to be beneficial for my future right? That’s why I was spending so much time compromising my mental health to complete this degree, right? That’s why I was doing it. To make my father proud… to make him … _happy_?

The novelty had worn off after my first year. I had gone back to school after two and a half years of floundering about in the _real world_ as people like to call it. This… this seemed like a step in the right direction. I would get a MBA. I would be able to support my father at his firm, and with it, maybe I would gain some clarity into the haze that had been my early adulthood. But… this … this was _too_ much.

I tried. …I had tried so hard to just try and view this entire experience as a normal thing. At the behest of Hubert, I had tried going to the counseling center. I remember when I was barely a month and a half into my program that I began resorting to old habits that I had tried to break during college. Sneaking smoke breaks in the park behind my department’s building, blowing every dollar I had on the cheapest wine and beer I could find, and willing myself to stop eyeing the stupid knives in the cutlery drawer as if they were some magic cure for the anxiety that I felt building inside.

I went to two sessions at the counseling center before I decided it was a waste of my time. I couldn’t vocalize anything. I would continue to stuff it down as I always did. Always having people wonder what was in my head, always making the people that cared about me worry about how I was doing. I had learned early in life that people don't really care about what you have to say. I had learned what my silence could do. Silence protected me in more ways than verbalization ever had.

Hubert and Dorothea tried to distract me in whatever ways they knew how. Winter break would come and I would bury myself in the sheets of my childhood home. My father would ask me how school was coming along and I, an emotionless puppet on autopilot, would give him a noncommittal answer of everything being just, fucking, _fine_. I finished my first year by almost failing two classes in spring semester and letting the crippling anxiety of never being good enough settle into my bones.

Last semester I managed to undo some of the damage from my first year. Barely, might I add. But, it was still there. The inability to measure up is _always_ there. The days toll on in their humdrum usual way. I wake up most mornings praying to just die. It takes an hour for me to even contemplate getting out of bed and at that point, I know that I’m going to be late for work. I waltz into the department, take a seat at the computer and pretend to be interested in what my professors drop by to talk to me about. How do I convey to them that I’m not enjoying my classes? How do I admit to them that I am _dying_ on the inside?

I leave at noon and fumble around in the pocket of my coat for a cigarette. These days I’m finishing a pack every two days to stave off the stress. I peer up through the trees and squint against the glare of the sun in the grey sky. Can my professors see me? The usual suspects drop by in the courtyard and we don’t speak. They have their own shit to deal with.

Eventually I push myself to go to class and retain nothing. I return home and ignore the gnawing of my stomach. I’ve forgotten to eat again today, haven’t I? Who cares about eating, I have another three hundred pages of reading and two papers to write by this Friday. Sleeping, however, sounds like the better alternative. So I lay down, intending on closing my eyes for an hour at most. I just need to rest for a little while...

...Dawn breaks and I’ve accomplished nothing.

My heart is in my throat and I’m freaking out about losing another day. Losing more time. The cycle never ends. And I’m tired of it. 

-x-

My breakdown began in the middle of one of my classes. My professor asked me to answer something and I should have known what he was looking for. But, I froze. Stared at him silently like an alarmed child who was caught red handed doing something they shouldn’t have by a doting parent.

The silence that permeated the classroom killed me and he merely sighed and turned his attention to another more capable student. I lowered my head in shame and could feel the panic building in the back of my throat. Why was I doing this again? I couldn’t keep up with anything that was expected of me.

When I returned home that night I called my father. I told him that I was taking a weekend trip up to Vancouver. I tried … I was _trying_. I tried one last time to let him know that I wasn’t _okay_.

It took forever for me to get the words out: “I’m ... really stressed out.” 

His response, without fail: “This is a part of life, Edelgard. Nothing worth having is easy.”

“I know.” I wanted to swallow my tongue.

He said the same thing that he always does, “You must learn to handle what lies in front of you. What you begin, you must finish.” 

“I. _Know_.” The grip on my phone was almost strong enough to snap it in two.

My relationship with my father has always been strained and somewhat distant. I never had an emotionally stable upbringing. My father may have been an outstanding financial provider, but we have remained largely unconnected where it matters most. In my never-ending frustration I hung up the phone and lit another cigarette. I inhaled the tears that threatened to fall.

I was tired of crying, tired of feeling weak.

-x-

…Last thoughts before death? What could those possibly be?

_I don’t want to die?_

But, I do.

-x-

People tell you can be whatever you want when you grow up. Follow your dreams and do whatever you want. But, it’s not true. People only focus on you if you’re a freak. A normal person can do this because they’re _normal_. But, hey, let’s marvel at the freak because them being able to accomplish something normal is extraordinary, it’s inspirational. It’s amazing. It’s marvelous.

It’ll be so basic for the rest of us, but let’s pump them up. They’re missing three limbs, siting on the corner of the street and begging for their life. Let’s throw money at them because of their misfortune. Oh, isn’t it nice how we changed the hand that fate was determined to give them? Everyone has a solution to a problem that isn’t there own. They think that they can flip it on its head and give you thirty possibilities that you’ve never considered. Analytically sound, but your thought process remains linear. A reflection of your shitty and unyielding personality.

The bus stops and lets out a loud and ominous sound as its gently humming shuts off and the bus driver announces that we’ve reached our final destination. How ironic, in my case. I grab my book bag and pull it tight to my back.

It’s colder here than it is in Seattle. Further north, more water. I join the rest of the late night occupants of the bus, grab my duffel bag and make my way out of the bus terminal. I have no idea where I’m going. I’ve only been to Vancouver twice. Once was during a time in which Hubert and I had taken a road trip up here, only to get lost and just come right back through the border into the States. What a waste of time and money. The other, to visit an old friend that I knew from my earlier days on the Internet, talking to people I wasn’t _supposed_ to be. I look at my cell phone. No reception. Of course not, I’m in _Canada_.

I light a cigarette as I stand outside the bus terminal to steal its Wi-Fi and ascertain where in the world I’m supposed to go. The Four Seasons… looks like it’s a ride away on what Vancouver likes to call a _train_ system. I purchase a refillable pass; make my way to my destination. It’s weird, sitting here all alone in the quiet of this train. No one knows me, I don’t know them. They probably think I’m just some tourist, a late arrival coming to explore their city. Oh, what they don’t know.

I get off at my destination, make my way through the train station and …I’m lost again. I check my phone, hoping that stupid Google Maps had stayed locked on to where I needed. I look for street signs, anything that matches the map currently displayed on my phone. A woman asks me if I’m lost. I politely decline to have her help me. These Canadians… I always hear that they’re friendlier than us Americans. Maybe we just know how to mind our business. I finally figure out my way, willing my way through to get out of this cold and into warmth of some kind. What does it matter? I’m supposed to be killing myself tonight.

The man at the counter gives me some trouble when I give him my card, talks about how I should have _signed_ the back or he wouldn’t accept it. I wish he would be quiet already, just charge the account already so I can finally go do what I came here to do.

I take the elevator up to my room. A couple enter and they won’t stop laughing and chattering with one another. Happiness, joy. They get off at the same floor and I wonder … what they would think if they knew how different our worlds currently were. I swipe the keycard and let myself in. The room is too large for one person, why did I book a _suite_ of all things? I guess I wanted to be comfortable in my last moments.

I set my suitcase down, get situated. Perhaps I should order room service? One last meal before I say goodbye to this current life? I dial down to the kitchen; watch TV as I wait for the food to arrive. It comes, I eat. …I guess I should get on with things then.

As I close the door behind me and look at the bathtub I feel conflicted. Is this really what I want? What will Hubert think? Dorothea? My father? For a second my thoughts also bring up _her_ … but she hasn’t been around for quite some time now, has she? Would she even care? Who will find me? Who will I traumatize with the reality of this matter? Why should I even _care_ about this? I have tried to ask for help, sought them out when I was in my darkest moments and none of them have heeded my call. I’m tired of being a burden to people, tired of being _weak._

The bathtub is full and I look at it before I strip down and enter the water. Warm, comforting. Some liquid splashes over the edge as I sink down. I look at the mosaic patterns of the bathroom walls. How many people had come here thinking the same things that I did? It doesn’t matter. I push forward, let my feet rest against the edge where the faucet is and take a deep breath. This is it, Edelgard. _I’m sorry_.

My head sinks below the surface and for a minute, I don’t think about anything. How long is it going to take me to drown? Will this hurt? What will the final moments be like? Am I doing the right thing? Do I _really_ want to kill myself? I open my eyes to look into the clear water. …It’s almost looks blue. _Blue_ … I need to stop thinking about her right now. Those days, those years are far past. Why should she matter at a time like this? My head is starting to hurt now. A tiny bit of air bubbles escapes from my mouth as I can feel my throat constrict slightly. My lungs are trying to press against my chest. _Breathe, Edelgard_ , what are you _doing?_ I close my eyes again. No. I want this. …I want… _blue_.

Panic sets in and I emerge from the water, taking a loud, deep and shaky inhale. I start breathing rapidly, grasping the side of the tub as I rub my eyes. I can do it. You can kill yourself. Stop _thinking_. I try again, submerging myself beneath the water once more. This time I can’t control my breath, reemerge once more coughing and sputtering as water lodges itself into my windpipe. What is _going_ on? I thought I was ready to do this. I was so determined to come here and never look back. I look down into the bath water that’s swishing violently around me. It’s so … _blue._ I pull my knees into my chest and let my forehead thump against me knee. Did I need more time? For what?

I can’t do this tonight.

I get out of the bathtub, stumble on the towel on the floor and let myself back into the main suite with a towel wrapped around myself. I sit down on the plush white bed, hair dripping in my face. I can feel myself trying not to cry … out of shame? Out of fear? I don't know what this is. My phone chimes at my side. It’s Hubert— _did you make it to the hotel? Take it easy up there. Please check in._

Why am I _doing_ this? I take a deep breath; reach for my phone and text him back. Yes. I’m all right. I didn’t just try and kill myself before I saw this. Talk to you later. Perhaps he knows what’s on my mind. Out of everyone in my life … Hubert has always been able to read me the best. I set the phone down and look up at the TV that is still on. There’s something about the inauguration of the new president on. I’m disgusted by the joy on his face.

I curl up in the bed, still in the towel and dripping wet. I don’t even know what to feel anymore. I don’t know what to _do_ anymore. Who can I turn to? Who can I call?

 _Blue._

I’m startled by the thought that pops into my head. I haven’t talked to her in … well; it’s been a couple of months now, hasn’t it? Would she even _care_ that I called? She always knew about these moods of mine and she was always … somewhat good at talking me out of them, or talking to me about them. Perhaps because she understood her own demons a little too well. And besides… doesn’t … didn’t she move up to Canada after everything ended the last time? She’s _here_ isn’t she?

I open a messenger app—one that will work on Wi-fi considering my current circumstances—look at our last message to one another. One from her that I never answered. I look at the small phone simple on the white screen and hit it. Part of me hopes she picks up, part of me hopes that she just ignores it. Let’s me fade into the past like she should have. _Ring … ring…_ it clicks.

“ _Edelgard_?”

“Byleth.” I reply.

Silence. I can’t tell what she’s thinking. There’s no emotion in her voice. 

“…It’s been awhile, _hasn’t_ it?”

-x-

Sometimes I think back to where this all started. Why I felt the way I did, why I am the _way_ I am. I’m talking about mental illness. Sometimes I try to pinpoint where exactly it started. Childhood? Teens? Young adulthood? Why is my mind always trying to convince me that things are worse than what they seem? Why do I lose myself in this fog, this haze of deceit? Why do I cause people to _worry_ all the time? Why can’t I be _normal_?

I think back to the beginning of my time in school… when …when _Byleth_ was still around. It had been years since we spoken. And then she appeared again out of the blue. _I’ve been thinking about you lately, it’s been what … six years since we’ve last seen each other? How are you? I see you’re going to get your MBA. Impressive. We should meet up. Catch up._ Yes. We should.

Byleth’s sitting outside of my work building at 4PM sharp. It’s the middle of summer and everything is bright and green outside. She’s got her hands in the pockets of her shorts, she wears glasses now, but that reserved smile still remains the same. I’m nervous, my hands are sweaty as they clutch the leather handle of my handbag. She looks me up in down, takes in how the years have changed me since we were teenagers. She smiles, _you look good_. That voice. That smile. It still makes my heart stir after all these years.

She was the first girl that I ever loved. A friend of a friend introduced us when we were young… _really_ young. Twelve, the precipice of adolescence. Everything is awkward and she likes what I like. We have sleepovers, watch anime, play video games until the wee hours of the morning and laugh like idiots over our love for fictional characters. Things are innocent then. I don’t understand these feelings that I have. Do they have anything to do with our friendship? Are they a crush? My other friends talk about boys and makeup and I don’t really have any interest in that.

Years pass. High school comes and we’re worlds apart. She goes her way, I go my own. But we still talk; send each other stupid letters about our day to day. I’m always excited when my father tells me, _you have a letter from, Byleth._ She hates her school; I’m ambivalent about mine.

It’s when I turn sixteen that I think things are a little different. I start to worry more, start to care a little bit more about the things that she’s getting into. Why are you fighting so much? Why are you always so angry? Why won’t you talk to me about what’s going on in that head of yours? I’ve figured it out by now that I like girls. Maybe guys, but mostly girls. But I can’t tell anyone. Everyone is so … judgmental. So hard. Except _her_. She tells me that it’s okay. I don’t have to tell anyone what’s going on with me if I don’t want to.

It’s winter when I stumble over my words. _I c… I care about you. And I … I’ve been thinking about you. In other ways._ She goes silent, perhaps as awkward as I am. _Would you … you … would you like to go out with me?_ The goofy smile that comes to her face makes my heart soar and I know that she feels the same. She takes the bus into the city; we’re standing behind a bookstore that afternoon just staring at each other like two idiots. I want to kiss her but I’m too shy to do so. So I kiss her on the cheek instead and she smiles at me in that same quiet and reserved way. We hold hands on the way back to my house.

A year and a half passes and things start to get a little turbulent. She’s dealing with some stuff, but she won’t let me in. I have my own things going on as well. My parents are fighting more, the house is chaos and I have nowhere to turn… no one to really talk to. I don’t want to burden Hubert, Dorothea doesn’t quite understand. I call Byleth one day on the verge of tears from another argument in my home and she’s drunk… and I’m worried. What is going _on_ with you? She tells me not to worry and starts laughing. I don’t find it very funny. I thought I could _trust_ you, _depend_ on you. Her calls grow distant, her letters nonexistent. We break up at eighteen.

College comes. We’re closer in distance, but lifetimes apart. I try to forget her, go on about my new life—but then she calls me. It’s been two months since the break up and she misses me. We should meet, we should _talk_. Autumn is a haze of trying to figure out a relationship where I’m not with someone, and yet we still hang around one another like we’re the best of friends. We drink together, laugh together, and smoke together. She still smiles at me with that same look that she had when we were together. Do you want me? What is this?

Spring cleaves its floral axe into winter and we’re walking in the city one day. Byleth’s been agitated all day and I’m getting frustrated with her inability to talk about anything. We get in an argument. We’re not together, why do we _act_ like we are? Feelings are hurt; words are said that neither of us wants to take back. _**Fuck**_ _you, Edelgard._ She leaves me standing there on the sidewalk and I get frustrated. Time passes. I stop receiving calls, I stop getting text messages. We haven’t sent letters in years.

I go on about my life. Forget about her. Forget about the ache that is my first love. Puppy love? No, _first_ love. I have never found a person in this world that has made me feel in the ways that she did. I finish school, get my degree. Stumble through menial jobs working in places that I hate, and then, stability. My father tells me he can _help_ me, but I shun him. I want to make my own way in the world and I will do it without relying on my family’s last name.

After Byleth leaves my life, I don’t really date anyone else for a while. I have crushes here and there, try and figure out my place in the world of queerness. Lesbians say they don’t _date_ bisexual women; men view me as a fetish. I am disgusted by both sides of the coin. At twenty-four, I finally date another girl, and yet I _cringe_ at her lack of wherewithal for anything in the world. During this time I am depressed again. I try and talk to her about these things, but she’s too busy talking about nonsense to actually hear my words. I break up with her, callously, and she cries. I don’t understand why.

I go on to finally get my first _big girl_ job working at some corporation in the heart of the city. They know my father, I wonder if he had a hand in this. It doesn’t matter. During this time, life is normal. I work, I go out with Hubert and Dorothea on occasion, return home. Rinse, repeat, do it all over again. I had been toying with the idea of going to graduate school because the day to day of the working life is so boring. My father says it is an _excellent_ idea. You can never be too educated… or too rich. Someone said that once, I cannot recall their name. Perhaps I am mixing that up with another phrase, I digress, it doesn’t matter.

I send in my applications, wait with bated breath for the dreaded arrival of those white envelopes. I get in, we all celebrate. I make a post on social media… and _her_ name pops up. Byleth. We haven’t spoken in … well, about six years now, right?

We pace the city, talk, get coffee and take in how much we’ve changed from late adolescence into early adulthood. I ask her what she’s up to; she’s hesitant to answer. _Things … here and there._ What does that even mean? She smiles at me. So, where will this day lead us? It’s a Friday; I don’t have anything to do. The night is young; let’s see where we go.

I end up at her father’s house. He’s surprised to see me, _glad_ to see me. And how impressive, I’m going to _graduate school_. He looks at Byleth and she rolls her eyes at the intonation of his voice. Turns out she never finished college, the whole process was just too _boring_. She wanted to do other things, went abroad for a couple of years, lived in hostels and backpacked across the world. I smile, that’s impressive, too, in it’s own right. Jeralt leaves us to our own devices, and reiterates _it’s good to see you again, Edelgard._ And then we’re alone.

She pulls me into the basement of her house. It’s messy and lived in with discarded magazines and clothing all over the floor. I don’t know where to go and she gestures toward the bed pushed into the corner of the room, as she occupies herself with something in her dresser. Byleth turns to me, a lighter in one hand and a pipe in the other _—do you still smoke?_ No, not really. I haven’t touched that stuff in a while… not since college at least. Byleth sits down next to me and proceeds to light up, passes me the pipe and I shake my head. _Later_ , maybe? Perhaps. I want to … get comfortable first.

She leans over and pulls something out from under her bed. A shoebox. _Your letters_. I get excited and lean over to pull them up into my lap. I haven’t thought about these in _years_. It would be nice to visit the past again, wouldn’t it? I laugh my way through the lamentations of my teenage years, frown at some things that I had confessed to her, smile at others. What a turbulent time, and yet I remember nothing of it. It’s as if it’s been washed clean from my memory. I turn to her and she pulls the pipe up to her lips again, blows out smoke. She hands it to me— _do you want some now?_

The first hit makes me cough and feel heavy and weighted down. Byleth leans back on her bed and turns to me— _You know, somehow, I thought you would be different—_ her eyes descend down to my buttoned up blouse, my pinstripe skirt, the stockings on my legs. She smirks— _you’re so buttoned up now—_ I don’t know how to take that comment. I take another inhale from the pipe and cough, waving my hand to disperse the smoke in front of me. All she does it laugh when I tell her I don’t understand what she means. Byleth leaves the conversation unfinished, turns on the TV and turns it to some music station. Something about girls kissing and paradise and summer. She looks back at me, perhaps something more in her eyes. I fall back over onto her bed and the world feels like it’s melting into me. 

She falls onto the bed beside me and I look at her. There’s something simmering there. Something left unfinished, left unsaid. Even as she crossed my mind through all these years, I never thought that our reunion would be here. She leans forward, kisses me on the lips and I don’t refuse her. Let her roll over on top of me, pin my arms to the bed, and let her leg slip between my own. Her knee presses against me and she pulls away from my lips to look at me. We never did this when we were younger did we?

My stockings are pulled off, my shirt unbuttoned, and she pushes my skirt up around my thighs. Perhaps all the love that she still reserved for me comes pouring out in those moments. My hand fisted in her hair, my legs on her shoulders. I come looking at the grooves in the panels of her basement ceiling.

We start seeing each other after that—in secret. Why it’s a secret, I have no idea. Every single minute of my time is consumed by her. I start ignoring my friends; they ask me what in the world am I _up_ to these days? During dinner after work one night, I tell Hubert that I’m seeing Byleth again and I can see the scrutinizing look come to his face even though he tries to hide it. _Nothing good will come of this_. I wish he would just _shut up_ and let me have my fun. We’re having _fun_ right; this is nothing more than that.

I start school and I’m overwhelmed from the minute I step onto campus. There’s so much to do, so much to read, so much to think about. I call Byleth at 3AM, crying about how I’m not _good_ enough. Nothing I do ever seems to be worth anything. I’m not as _smart_ as the other students; I’m not as _prepared_ as the other students. All my answers during class always seem juvenile in comparison to their elaborate colloquial. She tells me to stop worrying— _you know, in the end, none of this really matters, right?_ I find my tears stopping. …None of this matters? It matters to _me_.

She doesn’t see things like I do, like we used to. I think back to the past and wonder what in the world _happened_ for things to change like this? Byleth seems content with just floating through the world, letting the current of time take her wherever it pleases. While I, am struggling, to achieve something that I somehow determined I wanted. Maybe the factor of age has started to settle in. I don’t want to be thirty working some job that I hate, being somewhere that I don’t want to be. I voice these concerns to Byleth while we’re lying in bed one night and she’s sucking on my breasts. She stops, looks at me, tells me to _stop_ worrying.

I don’t like the company she keeps; she tells me that it’s really none of my business. She can take care of herself. The days roll on and she stops being the rock that I intended her to be in the storm that has become my life. We argue over stupid things, she calls me condescending; I tell her that she’s sensitive. Maybe this was a mistake. Maybe we should have left things alone all those years ago. Forgotten one another, forgotten the _pain_ of being the first love.

We sit on the quad of my campus in the early spring and I tell her we need to end this. She tells me that we need to talk. There is _nothing_ for us to talk about. All those dreams that we giggled about underneath the warmth of her sheets were just that… _dreams_. The reality of the situation is that our paths split, diverged into two different directions that somehow looped around again and got messy in the middle. And now, we would have to untangle them and continue on without one another. I watch her throw her cigarette to the ground, stare me down with pitying blue eyes and walk out of my life again for a second time.

-x-

I take a sip from my drink and try to suck the taste out of my tongue.

Byleth arrives. She doesn’t look much different in the time that has passed in the last few months. I turn to look at her, eyes blank and she sees my silence as an opening for her to sit down and order a drink from the bartender. I take another sip from my drink, not entirely sure how to start this conversation.

“Edelgard.” She begins, “Surprised to see you in these parts. And calling me of _all_ people.”

“Mm.” Was my noncommittal reply.

Byleth swivels her drink as it arrives, “I drive for three hours to come and meet you and you’re telling me you’re not up for conversation?” She questions.

I massage my palms with my fingers, “Just drink with me.”

“Just _drink_ with you?” She asks, a tone of disbelief in her voice. Byleth looks me up and down, takes in my partially dried hair, the hoodie that I’ve thrown on with my school’s name on it, the wrinkled athletic pants, my scuffed up boots, “You look like shit.”

“…Hm.” I expected for her to think so.

Byleth pauses before she takes a sip of his drink, “Edelgard, there is no way for me to understand your current pitiful state if you cannot vocalize why it is you wanted me here in the _first_ place.”

I wiped my mouth with the back of my hand and looked up at the dim lighting overhead. “I was going to kill myself tonight.” If Byleth had had any reaction toward what I had just admitted to, she covered it up with the aloofness that she always seemed to carry. When she didn’t say anything, I repeated myself. “I said I tried to _kill_ myself.”

She continues drinking like it doesn’t surprise her, “What do you want me to say? Are you expecting me to do something that saves you from your own self deprecation? I’ve already tried that before.”

“No.” I shook my head, lying to myself, “I just wanted to talk to someone.”

“And you choose me of all people?” Byleth asks.

“You were the only one I could think of.” I reply.

“How flattering.” Byleth turns her head to look at the other late night patrons of the bar, “What are you even doing up here? Shouldn’t you be, you know, back at your fancy school doing your _fancy_ grad school things?”

“I … I can’t do it anymore.” I reply, “I told you. I came up here to kill myself.”

“Depression again?” She asks.

“Maybe something more. I can’t … keep up with this anymore. I keep trying to reach out to people and no one _hears me_.” I look at her, “Even in all the strife of our relationship, Byleth, _you_ have.”

She takes a minute to understand the meaning of my words, “You really think that?”

“You were always the first person I turned to when I didn’t know what to do…” I admit, “…It has been _work_ to find someone that replaces the hole you left in my life.”

“Never knew you felt that way, Edelgard.”

“It’s the truth.” I look at her, “There was no one else to call. So I chose you.”

She doesn’t reply right away. Her eyes are lowered as if she’s thinking about something, perhaps the weight of my words. I take another sip of my drink in our silence and look down at my own hands. Finally, she speaks.

“Let’s go for a walk.” She sets her empty glass down on the counter, “I want to smoke.”

-x-

The night is cold and the streets, quiet.

“What have you been up to in the last couple of months?” I ask her as we make our way down the street. I have no idea where we’re going; I let her take the lead.

“Mmm.” Byleth uses her hand to cover her cigarette as she lights up, “Things… here and there.”

“It’s always _things_ with you.” I mutter.

Byleth chuckles, as she exhales her first drag, “It’s legal this time, I promise. Nah, I’m working some front desk dig down at this little hole in the wall. Pays the bills. Can’t complain.”

“Sounds… _fun_.”

“Judgment from Edelgard von Hresvelg, how surprising.” She smiles again, “What have _you_ been up to? You know, besides coming to Canada to kill yourself.”

“School.” I replied, “Nothing more, nothing less.”

“How’s your dad? Still waving his big business hand all over Seattle?” She asks, “The usual?”

“He’s fine.” I reply. We stop at a corner to wait for the light to change, “He hasn’t been the most supportive in this entire process.”

“He never was.” Byleth reminds me, “Always telling you to just _press on._ Get that degree, Edelgard. Your future is so important. You need to figure it out already. Solidify your sense of self already.”

“I can’t say you aren’t right on that one.” We begin walking again.

“Why are you still like this after all these years?” Byleth asks, “Why are you still obsessed with being so manic all the time?”

“What do you mean?”

“I’ve always told you that it _doesn’t matter_. That whatever you do, you do. You take that experience with you and then you go somewhere else and repeat the process. Why do you insist on living your life like this?”

“I want to have _purpose_. I want _security._ ” I remind her.

“Purpose doesn’t get you very far.” We begin walking up some stairs, headed for a pier of some sort, “And security? That’s cute. You know that shit can get taken away from you in a moment’s notice right?”

“Not if you work hard enough.”

Byleth starts laughing again, “…It’s funny. You said I listen to _you_ , but it’s never been true for the reverse, has it?”

“I listen to you. I listen to you gripe about how everyone is wasting their lives with unimportant bullshit. Or how fake you think everyone is. How you see people in a light that no one else does.” I remind her, “I _always_ listened, Byleth.”

As we advance toward the piers, filled with boats preparing to shift off in the morning, she leans down on one of the railings and looks up to the sky, “Do you remember our last conversation, Edelgard?”

“Yes. Where you called me condescending.”

“Ooh, did I hit a nerve with that one?” Byleth chuckles, “I also said other things. Like, you need to learn to accept other people’s lifestyles. Yours isn’t the only one that’s _right_.”

“I know that.”

“Do you really? Do you remember what you told me? You said— _No, I don’t.”_ She taps her cigarette out, “Let’s take this back a little further. Do you remember back when we were still dating? Or whatever that was that you want to call it. Do you remember how you would always harp on me about my lack of direction? My _slacker_ career as you liked to refer to it?”

“I was _concerned_ for you. I wanted you to find something in life that brought you joy, Byleth.” I countered.

“Who says I wasn’t happy?” Byleth asks.

“You were floundering from job to job and complaining about how none of it was _right_ for you.” I say, “And you were doing _other_ things too… other things that could have gotten you in trouble with the law.”

“But I never did, did I?” Byleth leans against the railing, “And besides, you got a little happy off of my _troubling dealings_. Right, Miss Xanax? Or, wait, it was Adderall after awhile wasn’t it? Sure helped you write a lot of papers back then, hm?”

“I don’t do _that_ anymore.” I sighed, “Byleth, I don’t want to argue. I know we will _never_ see eye to eye on this.”

“We probably won’t.” Byleth agrees, “…Why did you call _me_ again?”

“Why did you drive three hours to see _me_?” I ask her in return.

She looks at me as if she’s trying to find sense in my response. Byleth shrugs her shoulders, flicks her cigarette again and looks back up to the sky. “Perhaps this is our closure.”

“Closure?” I ask.

“Our conversation the last time…” She shakes her head, “…We didn’t really talk. We just kind of yelled at one another and then I left and we never spoke again.”

“Same as the last time.” I murmur.

“Huh?”

“The first time we broke up. When we were trying to be _friends_. When you were going through whatever mess that was that you never wanted to talk to me about. You don’t remember?”

“Oh, yeah. When I told you to fuck off and then left you there in the middle of the street.” Byleth chuckles, “Sorry ‘bout that.”

“It’s in the past.” I wave away her apology, “I guess you made up for it years later when you told me what happened. I’m … _sorry_ you were going through that and you didn’t feel like you could talk to me about it.”

Byleth shrugs, “Assaults, assault, El. Just gotta deal with it when it happens and move on I guess.”

“Sure. If that’s what you think.” I fold my hands over my lap, “…Would you care to indulge me for the night?”

“Huh?” She asks.

“I’m up here for the weekend. I don’t have any other plans. They were supposed to end with tonight.” I reply, “Maybe … maybe I can spend the weekend with you. Maybe we can finally find that _closure_ both of us need.”

Byleth contemplates my suggestion for a minute and then shrugs, “You sure about that?”

“Yeah.” I stand up and walk over to her, “I am.”

-x-

I take her back to my hotel room and we have sex.

Byleth pushes me down onto the bed, reminiscent of when she told me I was so _buttoned_ up, seeking to disarm me. Her hands are all over me and her lips are on my neck. I look up to the ceiling, wondering, _how_ did I end up here? I was supposed to have killed myself tonight and here I am with my ex-girlfriend in some overpriced, ritzy hotel room with her hands in my pants and her name on my lips. And God, if she still doesn’t know how to make me _come_ after all this time.

In the morning I’m greeted with her backside illuminated by early morning sun. She raises her eyebrows at me and I just stare back at her in return. What should we even do today? Let’s get breakfast; I can’t even remember the last time I’ve eaten. I let her borrow some of my clothes and we head off into the streets.

We settle down at the bar of some overpriced café. I order tea, Byleth gets black coffee, and we share some type of breakfast platter with too much food on the plate. It’s relaxed. She’s actually joking with me. Bringing up stupid memories of the past. Do I remember that bear I made for her that one time? She lost it… _sorry_. What about those stupid _forever_ necklaces we wore as teenagers? I still have mine in a jewelry box somewhere in my father’s house. How’s Hubert? Still hate me like he always did? Still think I was _never_ good enough for you? Yes, he’s still the same. He’s doing well… everyone that you used to know from my life … they’re all well.

I want to go shopping and she balks at the stores that I drag her into. They’re all too high end for Byleth’s taste— _give me a thrift store any day_. But I guess she’s doing this for old times sake. We walk through the city, taking in the sights, making idle banter as we stroll into the future and leave behind the past in our slips of conversation. Everything was so much easier when we were younger, wasn’t it? Now we’re … now we’re here in the present. And everything feels so grey and worn down. I can see the time residing in dark circles under her eyes. What _happened_ to us, Byleth? She shrugs as she lights another cigarette. Got older, I suppose.

The night descends, we’re sitting opposite one another at a bar. Is this where we’re supposed to find our closure? Byleth has her arms crossed over her chest as she waits for her drink to arrive. I’m currently sitting at her side, my head resting on her shoulder. Oh, if _only_ we could stay like this.

“So… you still thinking about killing yourself?” She asks.

I shake my head, “…No. I’ve had time to reconsider things.”

“That’s good.” Byleth replies. “You know, killing yourself doesn’t really do anything. Just hurts the people that love you. Pain is permanent. That shit never goes away.”

I look up at her, “Would it have hurt _you_ if I killed myself?”

“Are you _stupid_ , El? Of course it would have.” Byleth looks down at me like I lost my mind, “It doesn’t matter if we don’t talk anymore. Do you know what you’ve been to me in my life?”

I shake my head, “No… _tell_ me.”

Byleth rolls her eyes at me and thanks the waitress as she drops by, “How far back do you want me to go?”

“Hmmm. What about when we were kids? Before any of these messy emotions complicated anything.”

Byleth laughs, “What are we talking here? Thirteen? Fourteen? Fuck, we were idiots back then. Obsessed with damn video games and anime. You still like that crap anymore?”

“Hm. I have no time. I stopped playing video games probably when I was in high school.”

“Eh, can’t say the same. I still indulge.” Byleth chuckles, “…Anyway. You were like my only friend back then. I was always… the _weird_ kid you know. Bad with emotions, not able to articulate my thoughts. Hyper fixations on certain things. El, guess what?”

“What?”

“Come to find out as an adult, _I’m_ on the spectrum.”

“…Really?” I ask her. I shrug and reach for my own drink, “I just thought you were peculiar. Like me.”

“Diagnosis for a problem I don’t care to solve. I’m me, what does it matter?” Byleth looks to me and grins, “Perhaps _you_ should get tested, too. I hear that females usually have a lower rate of diagnosis than men. Who cares? Its just more crap the medical community uses to identify people as _different_.”

“You’re quite passionate about this, aren’t you?”

“I mean. Not really. I’m not about to turn into some disability advocate over here. Picketing and screaming about social justice at people.”

“I would be surprised if you did.”

“Anyway, getting away from the topic at hand here. Of course you were _important_ to me.” She almost sounds like she’s about to say— _you still are_. Byleth continues, “Hell, do you remember when you asked me out when we were teenagers?”

“Please, don’t remind me. We were so awkward.”

“Still are. Anyway, Edelgard… the point is. If you _had_ killed yourself. And I _had_ found out. I would have been angry. Fucking pissed at you that you had done something so fucking stupid and didn’t think to reach out to anyone for help.”

“I already told you I _did_.” I look up at her, a frown coming to my face, “And no one was listening.”

“Did you though? Did you actually go up to, say, Hubert, and tell him—Hubert, I want to _kill_ myself.”

“Of course not.” I sip my drink, “That’s not really how people go about planning their suicides.”

“No, instead, they run away to Canada and call up their old girlfriends for a quick chat.”

“Stop being so condescending.” I push at her shoulder, “This is supposed to be about closure, isn’t it?”

“Yeah, I suppose it is.” Byleth sighs, “So, how are we gonna go about doing that?”

“I voice my grievances. You, yours. In the morning …we see where things are.”

“Fair enough. You wanna go first?”

“I suppose I can. I _did_ call you out here after all.” I look up at her, “I … I hated the fact that you always took everything as a joke. You never took things seriously. You would always joke when I told you how stressed out I was. Or what I was dealing with. Just because it didn't matter to _you,_ doesn't mean it wasn't mentally harrowing for _me_." 

Byleth shrugs, "...I wasn't joking because I didn't _care,_ Edelgard. I was joking because it was just that... I've told you before. None of this _matters_." 

"And I've told you that it _matters_ to me." 

"I'm sorry. I guess I was always that way because ... I could never relate. Sure, I got you on the depression stuff. Mental illness, whatever." She looks down at me, her expression earnest, "I'll apologize for that if it ever hurt you."

"That's all I ever really wanted to hear." I admit, "...I guess I couldn't understand where you were coming either from your lack of direction in life. It always seemed so odd to me how you could just float by... doing nothing."

"Maybe you should try it sometime. Could be _quite_ the liberating experience."

"I have my own path to follow." I cut her ideations short. 

“Always the inflexible one. Wouldn’t be Edelgard if you weren’t, huh?”

“Sure. And what of you? What are your grievances toward me?”

Byleth shrugs, “I’ve said them before. We’re… El, we’re two different people who no longer work. We have history, sure. But that’s all it is at the end of the day—history.”

“What do you mean by that?”

“I … I will _always_ love you, Edelgard.” Byleth admits, “…You can’t take this type of relationship, this thing you have with someone else, and say it never meant anything. Hate, is just the opposite side of the coin of love. And while we have said things, done things, that may show contempt for one another… I don’t think we hate each other.”

“I still think about you… even when I told myself it was over.”

“As do I…” Byleth’s tone is solemn, “…I hoped you were out there making something of yourself like you always wanted. That you were finally with someone that could help you with that.”

I look up at her, “…What does that mean for us, Byleth?”

There’s a smile on her face, even though the solemn look is still in her eyes, “…We are no longer an _us_ , Edelgard. We haven’t been. For a long time.”

“I know that.”

“And while we can continue to talk and beat this issue to death, I don’t really think it will get us anywhere. You have your life. I have mine. They don’t mesh anymore… that’s the gist of it.”

“I … I agree.” I feel a slight pressure between my eyes; close them shut so the water doesn’t escape. “So this is closure, huh?”

“Yeah … I guess it is.”

-x-

That night we return to my hotel room again, order room service and watch TV. Time passes, it’s getting late. We turn out the lights, Byleth smothers me again, fingers inside of me and fucking me so hard my head keeps hitting the headboard. We will never have this _again_. I try and remember this moment for what it is. I turn her over; bury my face between her thighs. I will never have her again like this. Never taste her again like this. Never hear those sounds of her voice calling my _name_ like this.

On Sunday morning we wake up and she looks at me. I don’t say anything as we get dressed and I walk her outside. It’s time for her to leave. Closure has been achieved. Even though I don’t want it to be.

We stand outside in the cold, dreary Vancouver weather. There’s a smile on her face, yet it is sad, and her eyes are looking at me with this feeling of both love and lost.

“You know this is where we end, right?” She asks me, “We can’t keep doing this, El. This back and forth. I love you, I hate you. I want to be with you, I don’t want to be with you.”

“Byleth, I…”

Byleth shakes her head again, “No. _El_ … we had what we had. And we gave it another shot…” She pauses and looks at the ground, her shoulders shaking in laughter, even though none of this is funny, “…But you and I… as much love as we have, as much _passion_ and understanding that there is… you and I… we don’t work. We _can’t_ work.”

“You don’t think we could _try_?” I asked.

“We did try, remember?” Byleth reminds me as she lights a cigarette, “We tried… we tried for a _long_ time. But you’re so wrapped up in your destiny and I’m … not _safe_ enough for you. Those two things don't mesh. They’ll continue clashing.”

“What about _after_ I’m done with school? You don't think the two of us could sit down and talk things through? Perhaps we could finally see eye to eye on our ways of life?” Am I pleading with her to reconsider? “…I could learn … maybe … if you give me some time to think about it. Maybe I could loosen the leash and maybe I could…”

Byleth shakes her head, “I can’t _wait_ anymore, El. I’m sorry.”

What of me, though? What of us? I start fiddling with my hands, “Is this really where we end?”

She nods, “Yeah. …It is.”

“I see.”

Byleth takes another inhale of her cigarette. I can’t look up and meet her gaze. This was really the end then. I would never have this again. I finally look up at her; she twirls the cigarette in her hand as if waiting for me to say something. I can’t, so she continues.

She begins to speak her final words, “I hope … I hope you don’t feel the need to kill yourself again. Because next time, Edelgard, I won’t be able to _save_ you.”

Those words hurt more than she will ever know. I nod my head, “I know.”

“You should get some help when you get back.” She says, “…Talk to someone. _Find_ someone to fill that hole in your heart you keep claiming I left there.”

“I will.” I say, my voice sounding uneven to my own ears.

“So… this is it, then.”

I nod, “Yes… it is.”

Byleth leans forward, kisses me on the lips one last time. The expression in her eyes makes my heart break, “I love you, Edelgard. I always will.”

“I love you, too.” I reply, trying to will the tears to _stay_ where they are so she doesn’t see them.

She inhales, nods to me and then turns around to walk off down the street. I stand there, on the sidewalk in front of the hotel, watching her walk out of my life for the third time. That blue hair, a fading figure that I will never see again. I wipe away the tears before they even begin to fall. For some reason I remember that movie, the one from France… with those two girls. We watched it together one night and I had jokingly played with her hair and asked her if that’s why she was always dying hers blue. She shrugged, laughed, _maybe, El._ They say blue is the warmest color. Is it _really_ though?

When she’s finally gone, disappeared back into the crowds, I check my watch. I have to leave soon. I pause on the steps of the hotel, hoping that if I look again, I might see her. No, Edelgard. It’s over. She’s _gone_. I choke down the overwhelming feeling in my throat.

I turn back around, return to my hotel room, knowing what I must do.

_fin_


End file.
